


Never Over You

by Lostinfantasies38



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Broken Promises, Cassandra gets a cameo, Drama & Romance, Eamon is an ass, Explicit Language, F/M, Forgiveness, Heartache, Heavy Angst, Insecurity, One Shot, One True Pairing, Public Scene, Realization, Second Chances, Surprise Ending, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22350466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostinfantasies38/pseuds/Lostinfantasies38
Summary: Sirra returned to Orzammar when the Blight ended ten years ago.  Lost and abandoned, Alistair picked up the pieces of his life and tried to move on.  Or did he?ONE-SHOT
Relationships: Alistair/Brosca (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	Never Over You

“Alistair? Is-is that you?”

He sputtered into the styrofoam cup pressed against his lips, sending a spray of scalding coffee misting through the air, his heart seizing painfully at the sound of a raspy voice he never expected to hear in person again. Ignoring that it was the very one that haunted his dreams and crept into his waking thoughts whenever he allowed his mind to drift.

Straightening his spine, Alistair carefully turned around. His eyes automatically drifting to her diminutive height, unlike the rest of the world who frantically searched for her, seemingly surprised to discover how short the Hero of Ferelden was in reality. Plastering a smile on his face that he knew was too brittle, too sharp for what they once were, he attempted to keep his voice neutral since he was incapable of summoning a more congenial grin if he tried.

“Sirra. Uh, long time no see.” 

Andraste take him! Why did she still do this to him? Render him idiotic and stuttering like a lovestruck Chantry boy! His heart raced a touch too quickly, leaving him breathless and off kilter as he studied her – yep, ten years past and just as beautiful as when they parted. 

Dark eyes that reminded him of espresso, hair the color of night until the light hit it revealing that it was actually a rich mahogany, smooth and shiny from the oils she used to protect the strands. Her perfect full lips were currently caught between small pearly teeth, numerous piercings in her ears and nose flashing in the mid-morning sun as she tucked a rogue lock behind her ear that escaped her braid. 

Maker’s breath, his fingers itched to do it for her, running them through her silken tresses – NO! He couldn’t go there...not here, not now, in public with her standing in front of him. He would stay strong and wait to break until he reached the safety of his truck.

“So...what brings you here? I thought you returned to Orzammar.”

Tilting her head, he dutifully followed her a short distance away from the barista’s counter in the cramped coffee shop. 

“I did, but...I hated it. I left the running of the House to my second and, of course, Rica will also oversee matters. I made a mistake, believing it would make me happy –”

Alarm bells rang in his head and Alistair knew he had to put the brakes on this very public conversation that he absolutely, most definitely, could not deal with before he went into work.

“Yes, well, I’m sorry to hear that. Are you staying in Denerim or will you maybe go to, oh I don’t know, Antiva?” 

Sirra’s face crumpled at his brusqueness, blinking rapidly, but he wasn’t sure if it was due to tears or simply righteous indignation at his thinly veiled accusation that she might chase a former associate. 

Wringing her hands in anxiety, her voice was small and thin when she replied. “I was planning on staying in the city. There isn’t anywhere else that I consider home.”

Alistair’s head jerked as though he’d been slapped, but he stomped hard on the remnants of his heart that was valiantly trying to resurrect itself in the face of her pain and the hope woven like gossamer in her words.

“Ah, well.” 

Clearing his throat, he made a show of checking his watch, needing an excuse, _any_ excuse, to get him as far away from this situation as possible so he could crack in the privacy of his tinted cab. Couldn’t let anyone in the city see the great Alistair Theirin, former Warden Commander and whispered lover of the Hero, have an emotional breakdown over his coffee.

“You must forgive me, but I’m going to be late for work.” 

Curling his thumb, he indicated the side exit and smartly spun on his heel to leave without waiting for her response. The cool spring air seared his lungs with every breath as he struggled to keep his composure, counting the steps to his truck parallel parked about two storefronts up. _One, two, three, four, five, six_ –

“Alistair!”

_Maker damn it!_

Resisting the urge to rail at her for ruining his morning, he stood immobile reminding his brain that he required his lungs to continue functioning in order to stay alive. Air inflated them with his first deep breath, but every one after was shallow, his jaw clenched in a mixture of anguish and anger. Sirra’s short legs carried her briskly in front of him, staring up defiantly, and despite himself he felt a rush of pride for the feisty dwarven woman he fought a war with a decade ago. It seemed some things never changed.

“I left Orzammar for –”

Tossing his untouched drink in the nearby trash bin, Alistair stepped closer and growled, “Don’t. Don’t fucking say it, Sirra. If you wanted...me...us to work, then you shouldn’t have left.”

Raking his hands through his perfectly styled hair, he hissed. “All that time we were together you said you didn’t want to return. That you were happy here – with me. Was that a lie?” Swallowing hard, Alistair was secretly ashamed that his next words came out in a whisper. “Was _I_ a lie?”

Shaking her head fiercely large tears spilled over her cheeks, dark eyes wide and earnest, pleading for him to understand. 

“I had to return in the end, you _know_ that! Damn it, Rica almost died! I couldn’t leave things as they were between us and then while I was there, they made me a Paragon for killing the Archdemon and you stopped taking my calls, blocked my number. I had no way to reach you!”

“You could have left Orzammar and said what you had to say in person! I was right here...right here waiting for you. Maker’s fucking breath - I never stopped waiting!” It wasn’t until the collar of his button down dampened against his skin that Alistair realized he was weeping. 

“Fuck.” 

He angrily wiped away the evidence of his repressed emotions, refusing to look at the eyes in front of him brimming with a heartache mirroring his own.

“I did come back. Once.” 

Alistair’s eyelids slammed shut to hide the immediate shame and regret that bubbled within him, but it didn’t stop his involuntary grimace or the rapid jerk of his shoulders. Damn, his superiors always told him his body language was too expressive.

Swallowing a couple of times to wet his parched throat, Alistair managed to croak, “Did you now? How...ahem, that’s…uh, I mean, you didn’t stop by–”

“Stuff it, you hypocritical ass! I came back because even in Orzammar we heard rumors of the lost prince getting engaged to the widowed Queen of Ferelden. A war hero and a prince? What queen in her right mind wouldn’t fucking capitalize on that union?”

Snarling, Alistair leaned dangerously over her smaller frame, but she merely returned his glare with unflinching determination and he had to beat back the same ridiculous rush of admiration. That was the famed glare of the woman who fearlessly faced an Archdemon, a creature of legend and myth; riddling it’s body with bullets, sending chunks of flesh flying with grenades before finishing it herself with the Uzi their lieutenant dropped when a darkspawn got the jump on him and eviscerated him with a single swipe of its claws. 

Alistair remembered taking out the spawn and swiveling in horror at the sound of the missile leaving the cannon perched on her blue and gray fatigued shoulder, her legs squarely planted to guarantee she hit her mark. The Archdemon’s head exploded in a shower of blood and gore from the direct hit. A vacuum of utter silence immediately descended on the peak of the ancient tower for a second before a sonic wave of sound and blistering heat sent those present careening across the stone turret. 

It was a moment forever etched in his mind. Even now, wracked as he was by a torment he buried and refused to deal with, Alistair couldn’t contain the overwhelming love and respect he had for her. Sirra saved the world ten years ago. She saved him before that, almost the day they met – their first day of training after being recruited into the elite Grey Wardens. 

They’d been thick as thieves instantly and everyone in their squad assumed they were lovers long before they actually were, but it hadn’t been enough. That camaraderie and friendship that was the bedrock of their romantic relationship, a strong foundation that withstood a year of hell side-by-side, must have been cracked or made of sand because they crumbled into dust so easily when she walked away.

He tried the long-distance relationship for a while, he really did, but he was young and selfish and maybe a little spoiled to having her within arm’s reach all the time. Without her he felt lost and their separation filled him with bitterness. Taking up the position of Warden Commander she rejected, he focused on recruiting Wardens to bolster their numbers since the war saw most of them annihilated, and protecting the countryside around Amaranthine while the farmers struggled to make ends meet as the Blighted land prevented crop growth. It took years of working with the best scientific minds in Thedas to come up with solutions for the condition of the soil and providing alternate means of feeding an entire population of people without the ability to grow grain.

Forced to work closely with the Crown during this time eventually led to the suggestion of a political marriage between Alistair and the Queen. Anora didn’t need much convincing, despite the fact that her deceased husband had been Alistair’s own half-brother, but he took longer to come around to the idea. After months of pressure from his foster father, Arl Eamon, and the realization that Sirra was not coming back, Alistair caved to their clever machinations. 

The country rejoiced - the celebration especially enthusiastic in Denerim, the seat of the Crown. Their faces were splashed on every tabloid, every news broadcast, every online site. He wasn’t able to go around the corner to his favorite Chinese restaurant for takeout without being mobbed by the adoring public. It was a fiasco of international proportions that made the obsessive hero-worship following the Blight seem tame by comparison. 

Everything was planned and prepared in a mere six months, but as the day drew closer, Alistair knew deep in his bones that he couldn’t go through with it. Political or not, he couldn’t marry Anora – swearing to love and honor her, not when his soul belonged utterly to someone else. The Chantry didn’t allow divorce. There would be no going back if he went through with it and he was forced to be honest with himself that he still held out hope that one day Sirra would return. So, he called off the wedding and spent the winter hiding in Nevarra from the seething Royal House and his conniving uncle.

“I called it off, as I’m sure you are aware. I took a page from your book and ran away.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, Alistair wished it was possible to take them back. Reeling on her heels, Sirra stumbled back a couple of steps until her hand shot out lightning fast and clutched a nearby telephone pole to steady her quaking frame.

Bending over, she gasped raggedly. Reacting on instinct he tried to close the few feet between them, now comparable to a cavernous void. Lifting her hand, she stopped him short of touching her, glancing at him wearing an expression that could only be described as absolutely gutted.

Sirra hissed through clenched teeth, her words nearly impossible to catch from her current angle. 

“Is that what you think I did? Ran away? I _tried_... I _wanted_ you. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my worthless life, but you shut me out and I figured you found someone, so I let you be. But then I heard about Anora and I had to see for myself. I refused to believe that you would...with _her_.” 

Pulling herself to her full height, her usually warm eyes were significantly colder, her shoulders squared for a fight. “I arrived in the city to see you and Anora plastered every fucking where and my heart... _died_. You couldn’t have killed me more efficiently with a .38 caliber - your favorite, as I recall.”

Alistair squashed the guilt, instead picking up the anger burning within him, brandishing it like a weapon with a furious growl. 

“You left! How long did you expect me to wait? You said so yourself, you assumed I had moved on and after so long it was pretty damned obvious that you did, too.”

“I NEVER MOVED ON!”

The scream caught him off guard – certain her raspy vocal cords were incapable of such volume. Loud enough that most people milling around in the sleepy neighborhood heard, as well. Suddenly remembering how public their display was, Alistair reached for her arm with an aggravated huff, but she hopped nimbly aside.

“Afraid I’ll make a scene, Warden Commander? Or should I say, Your Highness?” Sirra affected a mocking bow with a sneer.

“Stop it! You know how much I fucking hate that.”

Sirra’s eyes flashed. “Isn’t that what Anora called you as you warmed her bed?” 

His initial anger roared into explosive fury, white hot in his veins, spurring his tongue into action. 

“You’re crazy! I never...we didn’t...what the fuck do you care?! You. Left. Sirra! You left me! And I have spent every day since then wishing that I was _enough_ for you to stay. I’m sure that makes me pathetic and whiny and desperate, but I don't care. I love you and I have loved you for a decade.” Swiping angry tears from his burning cheeks, as the coil restraining ten years’ worth of indignation snapped, his voice dipped into a treacherous snarl. 

“But none of it mattered, did it? All those promises turned to ash. The dreams we made for the future. Dust! And you have no one to blame but yourself.” 

Pushing around her, he picked up his pace, in an effort to beat her shorter legs. He could see his truck. Alistair just needed to get in it and call his boss with a flimsy excuse so he could go home and drink that untouched brandy sitting on top of the fridge. All of it. Every drop. He wanted to be so drunk that his liver teetered on the edge of alcohol poisoning by noon and he only had two hours until the Chantry bells struck twelve.

A small hand encircled his wrist as he reached for the keys in his trousers. This time he did round on her, ready to chuck her halfway up the sidewalk, but she evaded the shove vaulting off the ground and attaching herself to his back like a cancer. Except this cancer gripped him in a chokehold. There was minimal pressure on his neck, one misstep though and she would not hesitate to send him crashing to the cement in a blackout and he liked his nose too much to risk it.

“Listen to me, you asinine human,” the scrappy dwarf hissed in his ear. “I came back to tell you that I am sorry. That yes, maybe I ran away. Shut up and be still!” 

Her arm tightened as he flailed in betrayal to hear her finally admit that she abandoned him, same as everyone else in his life, the one thing she swore she wouldn’t do to him.

“I didn’t run for the reasons you think. I was a coward. I knew how much I loved you, but I didn’t think your feelings for me were the same. I left so you could find another human...someone worthy of you.”

Her raspy voice dipped into a whisper, ghosting his skin delicately, and his heart fluttered as buried memories of her breath caressing his skin in the dark rose unbidden to the surface forcing him to suppress a groan.

“I was never good enough for you, Alistair. A dwarf? With a human prince? It felt hopeless, unreal, unattainable. And then, I heard about Anora. I realized what an idiot I was and I hoped to track you down, to beg your forgiveness, but everywhere I looked I saw you smiling. Your genuine smile with warmth in your eyes and that adorable crinkle you get in your nose.”

Alistair’s breath hitched and he blinked furiously to stem the tears that threatened to make another appearance. Damn it, how many times would this morning see him cry?

Tapping her lightly on the forearm, she lessened enough of the pressure holding him in check to allow him to speak, but prevent any sudden moves without the crook of her elbow sending him into unconsciousness.

“Fake. Acting lessons. Forced to look happy for the cameras,” he rasped.

Sirra sucked in a breath and held it for so long he actually began to fear more for her than himself. Exhaling raggedly, she squeaked, “Ancestors, I’m a fool.”

Unlocking her hold, she braced her hands against his shoulders and backflipped off him in a practiced maneuver, landing a few feet behind him. Rubbing his neck in a vain attempt to erase the memory of her touch, Alistair steeled his heart before rounding to face her.

The preparation did nothing - his heart shattered at the sight of her. Tears streamed down her face, shoulders shaking in her signature silent cry, and no matter how many times she brushed aside the water cascading from her eyes they were immediately replaced with another flood. A decade of wanting and longing, erupted like an uncorked bottle of champagne, but these were not celebratory tears. These were gut wrenching.

Maker’s breath, he wanted to be angry with her. He wanted to hate her for being so damned obstinate and refusing to come to him sooner, but he couldn’t. Forcing down the bile that rose fast and sour up his esophagus, Alistair berated himself for his own pride that kept him from going to _her_. Sirra was not the only one at fault.

Guilt pierced his heart at his own cowardice. None of this had to happen - everything they suffered was self-inflicted and he could no longer blame her for what was not solely hers. Clenching his hands into fists, he breathed steadily through his nose, willing his body to calm so he could speak without accidentally shouting in distress. 

“Sirra. Sirra, look at me.” 

Shaking her head, she sniffled and wrapped her arms protectively around her middle, curling in on herself in grief. Closing the distance between them on wooden legs, Alistair sank to her level, reaching out with trembling fingers to cup her chin and gently lift her head.

Espresso met hazel, revealing his own insecurities in her swirling depths, causing him to inhale sharply. Both of them were traumatized and damaged by their past, by the horrors of war, by the political pressures of his pseudo-station that plagued their relationship. There was no way she could know that he’d finally cast Eamon off, removing the shackles of his bloodline from his life. Honestly, Alistair doubted he would have if she remained with him during the last ten years. It was their separation, the heartbreaking realization of what he lost, that forced him to stand up for himself, at last. 

Sighing heavily, he quirked his lips at the corners in an attempt to reassure her, focused on keeping his tone level and warm. 

“It’s not all your fault, Sirra. I...could have gone to Orzammar anytime, but I didn’t. I let myself wallow in self-pity and you’re right...I blocked your number and stopped responding to your emails. It was petulant and undeserving...and I’m sorry.”

A rueful smile tugged her mouth, but the light in her eyes was gone. The loss hit him in the chest akin to a charging mabari, complete with the physical pain of a one hundred thirty-pound beast tackling him straight into a brick wall. For as long as he’d known her, Alistair never saw Sirra without that blazing fire in her soul. It shone through when she was brash, reckless, headstrong, tender, loving – that fire had never been extinguished...until now.

“Well, there is nothing we can do about it now, is there?” 

Alistair merely shook his head in reply, afraid of what would fall out if he opened his mouth. Her smile collapsed, but she caught herself immediately and plastered a larger, brittle, sharper grin in its place. It was certainly the twin of the one he gave her only half an hour ago.

“In that case, I better be going. I’m sorry I ruined your morning, made you late for work, and forced you to give up perfectly good coffee...I’m sorry for interrupting your life, Alistair. I won’t bother you again.”

Spinning out of his grasp, Sirra raced with alacrity up the sidewalk. He’d forgotten how quickly she walked in spite of her shortened stature. Already halfway up the walkway, she was moments from slipping around the coffee shop and out of his life once more, before his tongue caught up with his brain that was desperately screaming at him to say something.

“SIRRA!” 

Everyone crowding the store fronts and milling in the periphery of their theatrics halted including her. Her back hunched as though his shout pushed her forward and she very deliberately swiveled to face him, swallowing hard at the sight of him still kneeling with hand extended, where moments ago her chin touched his fingertips for the first time in ten years, yet somehow felt like yesterday.

Raking his elevated hand through his hair in irritation, Alistair yelled regardless of their audience. “Andraste’s flaming sword, you infuriating woman! You can’t come back after all this time and leave me again, damn it. I-I can’t bear it.” It embarrassed him to hear his reedy tone crack during the confession.

Flinging her arms wide in frustration, Sirra’s hoarse voice carried on the breeze, “And what would you have me do, Alistair? The war is over. We killed the Archdemon. I should stay here...and do what? We aren’t soldiers anymore.”

One thing crossed his mind. The deeply buried dream he lacked the courage to tell her when they were together, because at the time with Eamon breathing down his neck and a war to be won, it didn’t seem feasible. Either they would die facing a demonic dragon or Eamon would truss him up like a roast pig and parade him around the noble families as a pawn. Yet amazingly, neither of those horrible fates came to pass and even with the years that stretched between them, creating a wretched monster of their own making, he still loved her fiercely. And he knew that it would never fade. The intense passion that flamed to life whenever she was near was proof.

Rising to his feet, Alistair strode purposefully towards her, smirking confidently as her fathomless eyes widened in recognition of his ‘I have an ace up my sleeve’ swagger. He paused a couple of feet away, head cocked to the side, eyebrows arched questioningly. 

“Do you want to leave?”

Sirra gaped at him, chest heaving as she shook her head with a faint blush creeping high on her cheeks, pinned by his intense gaze. 

“No,” she breathed. 

Alistair’s eyelids fluttered shut for a split second and he released a tremulous breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Keeping his gaze locked on hers when he reopened them, he drank in the sight of her: ears and nose glittering with an assortment of jewelry according to dwarven tradition, the natural highlights in her hair adding dimension to the color. 

_Maker’s breath, she’s still beautiful, if not more so._

Her lips twitched and he wondered if his musings were not as internal as he believed, yet before he lost his nerve and this Maker-sent second chance, Alistair took a knee grabbing her left hand on the way. Trembling violently, Alistair noted she struggled to breathe as much as he, yet mercifully the shock rendered her mute in the moment and he seized the opportunity.

“Sirra, despite this awkward reunion...I have thought of nothing and no one for the last ten years save you. I have replayed every memory, every conversation we ever had. At least twenty times a day I ask myself ‘what would Sirra do’ in situations when I don’t have a damned clue and your voice has never steered me wrong.” Breathing deeply, Alistair mustered his courage, barreling on before she could loosen her tongue. 

“I fell in love with you while a war raged through the nation. I fought at your side to see the Archdemon defeated, but the only thing more terrifying than a corrupted dragon devouring the world is the thought of losing you...permanently.” 

The tip of his tongue flitted across his lips, the large hand engulfing hers tightening unconsciously as he pleaded.

“Don’t go back to Orzammar. I’m asking you...no, I’m _begging_ you...marry me?”

Alistair’s heart beat an erratic tattoo against his ribcage, shooting flares of anxiety through his veins as he waited on tenterhooks for her answer. Sirra’s mouth rounded into a perfect circle of stunned surprise and ice water replaced the hot pulse of life-blood winding in his circulatory system the longer this excruciating display dragged out. His kneecap began to angrily protest the continued press against unyielding pavement and he wondered fleetingly if he’d been mistaken. Maybe she didn’t really want him after all. Not enough to walk away from her people and live topside with him again.

Heart-shaped lips finally fluttered, but the words she tried to impart were voiceless, forcing her to try a second time. 

“Are you serious? After all that...and all this time?” 

If his ears hadn’t been so sharply tuned for her reply, he would have missed her near silent whisper. A warm, relieved smile broke on his face as he answered.

“Yes. Even after ten years of waiting and this...disastrous reconciliation. I meant what I said during the Blight - I can’t imagine my life without you in it, Sirra. Is that a yes?”

Nodding vigorously, tears spilled across her cheeks when she breathed.

“Yes – a thousand times, yes!” 

“Praise Andraste,” he murmured, wrapping strong arms around her stout frame.

After years of aching for her, it felt like coming home. Maybe he had. His home had always been Sirra, but they were too stubborn and idiotic to recognize such an obviously simple fact. His lips claimed hers and a live wire of electricity buzzed from his mouth to his core which radiated the shock through the rest of his frame. Separating with a strangled gasp, Alistair pressed his forehead to Sirra’s, sucking in unsteady gulps of air to give him time to simmer down following the round of internal fireworks.

Fingers tangled in his hair, the gentleness of her action causing his heart to constrict all over again. 

“What do we do now?” Her quiet words brought him back to the present and he met her eyes with a lopsided grin.

“We get in my truck, I call in sick to work, and we go home. We have a lot to talk about...and some of it may even have to be discussed in the nude. If…that’s agreeable, love.”

Sirra leaned into the palm cupping her cheek with a teary smile. “You know, I always believed you were an excellent leader with superb battle strategies.”

Alistair chuckled softly. “If I recall, you only said that because I admitted my leadership would leave us stranded somewhere without pants.”

The fire thrummed to life in her dark eyes again as her lips curved into a wicked smirk. “See? Excellent instincts. I think we should explore that particular strategy at home.”

Roaring with laughter, Alistair rose to his feet and scooped her to his chest, ignoring the cheers and whistles from the crowd as he marched with military precision to his truck. He continued to support her easily with one arm while snagging the keys from his pocket and unlocking the door. Once situated in their seats, their foreheads met over the center console as though magnetized, and they pressed three fingers to the back of each other’s neck in silent salute. 

“I’ve missed you, salroka,” Sirra murmured in their shared oxygen.

“And I’ve missed you, love.” 

Bopping her sweetly with the tip of his nose, they thumbed each other’s tears away, separating reluctantly so he could fire up the engine. Snagging his phone from the cup holder, Alistair connected the Bluetooth and called his boss while edging into traffic. 

A clipped voice responded after a couple of rings. “Theirin, you’re late.”

“Yeah, about that I won’t be in today –”

“Save it. You’re not sick. Your face is plastered all over social media right now. Quite a show with the Hero of Ferelden. Tell her I said hi, by the way.” Sirra smothered a giggle at his horrified expression, waving away his concern, and he conceded that it was too late to worry about it now.

“Damn, thanks for the heads up, Cass. I’ll be in tomorrow.”

The no-nonsense Nevarran continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “I expect you in on Monday. I’ve already passed your caseload to the other detectives. Enjoy your weekend.”

Cassandra abruptly ended the call and Alistair chuckled, shooting Sirra a mischievous smirk. 

“Well, that’s one problem solved anyway.” She arched an eyebrow in a silent question and he explained. “If it’s all over social media it means that Eamon already knows and I don’t have to break the news.”

Sirra’s enthusiastic snicker joined his, bouncing brightly in the cab as they drove home, their hands clasped in a fierce embrace. 

This time Alistair didn’t intend to let her go. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to Ginipig and kittimau for beta-ing this for me! Love both of you lovely ladies!


End file.
